


Tale as Old as Time

by hoppnhorn



Series: Harringrove Bits & Pieces [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, Biting, M/M, Marking, Scent Marking, beast!billy, beauty!steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: Prince William, imprisoned in the form of a beast, can be freed only by true love. What may be his only opportunity arrives when he meets Steven, a man who bewitches him from the very moment he steps foot in his enchanted castle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohmybgosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/gifts).



> Harringrove Beauty and the Beast AU - inspired by [this post](http://ohmybgosh.tumblr.com/post/169355214357/hoppnhorn-littledipperpines). I very quickly proofread so please ignore any silly mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

He’s not sure what stirred him from sleep but when he opens his eyes, there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. A single breath where he forgets what he is, forgets the curse that put him there. His heart beats stronger in that second, elation building up in his blood only to crash in an inevitable wave of despair. His memory resurfaces and his soaring heart is broken once again. His agony returns. 

He’s still a captive in his own castle. He’s still a hideous monster. Once Prince William, now nothing more than a beast.

A soft noise, like a flutter of wind, draws his attention as he rises from his bed. In a castle, there are many ambient sounds but this one puts his hair on end.

Someone is there. 

He moves like lightning, the power of his body torquing his muscles as he runs, hands clawing at the carpet like an animal. He’d given up trying to walk about like a human anymore. There was no reason when he could practically gallop like his finest horses. 

Tearing out of the west wing, he pauses to inhale. 

There’s  _ definitely _ someone there. They smell like snow and mud and there’s something else. Something that stirs an inexplicable reaction from inside his chest, as if the notes of a song he hadn’t heard in years were being hummed in his ear. He snarls and recoils from the emotion, eyes darting around the corridor for any sort of clue. 

Footprints. Wet, and slightly dirty, lead towards the east tower. He digs his nails into the floor as he pounds after them. 

His prisoner was in the east tower. 

He takes the stone stairs four at a time, stretching his agile body to climb them with speed no human man could ever hope to achieve. But he moves silently. He was transformed into a predator, after all. He could descend upon any helpless person and rip them to pieces, should he choose. They wouldn’t stand a chance against his solid arms and legs, razor sharp claws, and of course his fangs. He had once wondered how many men it would take to bring him down. Would it take a dozen? Maybe a few dozen. He’d contemplated spears and arrows, laughing at the idea of any man attempting to get up close.

He would be nearly invincible.

When he reaches the top of the tower, the scent is strong, so much so that he slows to take in a long breath of it. The pounding of his heart hitches with surprise. It’s  _ wonderful _ . Drool starts to form in his mouth and he swallows it back thickly, panting from exertion and excitement. He’s shocked at the reaction but shakes it away, his mind focused on the intruder. 

He trains his ears to listen in the dark. 

The prisoner gives a cough, like he has since the moment William had found him in his home. The old man is probably festering a cold but there isn’t a lick of pity in his heart. The moron was a sheep who’d strayed too far from his flock. Beasts do not pity sheep. 

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

A new voice rings out against the stone walls, echoing for anyone to hear. But his fine hearing would have heard it even if the words had been a mere whisper. What he hears, however, is foolish bravery. A young man, if he had to guess. The tone had been confused, almost angry, and there was a finality to his words. Bold. But wrong. 

“Steven.” The prisoner whispers. “Please, you must leave at once. This castle is alive. Leave me.”

“No!” The man, Steven, replies. His voice is firm with resolve. “You’re going to freeze to death in here. I’m not leaving you—”

“You must  **go** .” The prisoner pleads. “Go before he finds you!” 

“Who?”

William can’t help himself. He let’s a long breath rattle through his chest, hum up the back of his throat, and growl between his teeth.  _ He _ is the monster lurking in the dark. He is the terror that waits in the night. But he doesn’t move to reveal himself. He simply stands in the shadows and listens to the scuffle of feet. 

The scent changes. It turns sour in his mouth, blanketing his tongue with a bitter tang. Fear. The prisoner had stunk of it since the moment William had entered the tower. But this, this new fog of dread, is different. It doesn’t disgust him but rather amuses him. There’s a strong edge to it, like a spice he couldn’t recall. He breathes it, holding it in his lungs, and let’s it out slowly. 

“Who’s there?” The man calls out. William slinks around soundlessly, gaining a new vantage point. The moment he sees Steven, he freezes. 

“Who are you?!” The man cries. William just stares. 

Steven is young; yet William finds he could be no younger than himself. His dark hair hangs low on his forehead, tossed carelessly around his eyes and ears. Even from a distance, William can see the striking pair of brown eyes glaring out into the empty air. They’re set in anger but  _ oh _ the scent of him only grows. It’s crisp and violent and intoxicating. He takes it in through his nose and out of his lips, engulfed in the dizzying taste. 

He growls again, this time without the intention of doing so. Impulse is driving him, kicking him out of manual. His senses grapple for control while he drinks in his newest prey, eyeing the endless pale skin of the man’s neck, the dark moles that speckle his complexion. His fangs pulse with need, a need he’s never felt before. They throb in his gums, begging to be  _ used _ . 

“Who are  _ you? _ ” He snarls, still obscured from view. He’s not ready to lose the thrill of Steven’s fury, as savory as it is. 

“I’ve come for my father.” Steven straightens with another bout of resolve. The smell of his courage slices sweetly up William’s nose and he shudders, his great body trembling with a foreign sense of desire. The weight of his fangs grows heavier. 

“Your father is a thief.” 

“Liar.” Steven hisses into the dark, his face cracking into an expression of rage. William growls low in his throat and slips closer. 

“He stole a rose.” He goads the man on, a smirk on his lips. 

The tense anger on Steven’s face falls and suddenly his scent is weak. It forces William to pause.

“Steven, please—” The prisoner calls from inside his cell, a hand reaching for his son. 

“I asked him to bring me a rose.” Steven calls out, his face returning to a stoney expression while the scent of him remains hidden. William grieves its loss and snarls in frustration. 

“You asked for a rose?”

Steven looks back at his father, his eyes shadowed by the hair drifting low to his brow. He takes the caged man’s hand and squeezes it, a sad lift to his lips. 

“My mother’s name was Rose.” He says gently. In an instant, the quiet of his demeanor is gone and William is bombarded by the perfume of him when Steven whirls around. “Punish me, if you must. But let my father go!”

“NO!” The prisoner screams, clutching at his son’s arm in a desperate attempt stop him. “NO, STEVEN! He means to keep me forever!”

“Forever?” Horror darkens the man’s features and his free hand coils tight into a fist. “A life sentence for a rose?!” He yells out into the air, eyes darting around as he searches in vain for his captor. William sneers at him. 

“I received eternal damnation for one.” He bellows, his voice thundering against the cold stone that surrounds them. “I’m merely locking your father away.”

“Over a flower?” Steven snarls back. William studies him and considers it. 

He’d intended to let the prisoner simply die in the tower. Starve or freeze, whichever end found him quickest. But his son, Steven, he wouldn’t be able to simply ignore, every part of him roaring to move closer. 

He is startled by the acute need to  _ possess  _ him. 

“Are you taking his place, or not?” He asks gruffly, moving carefully towards the pair without alerting them to his proximity. Steven tracks his voice, eyes latching onto him in the dark. He shuffles his feet, as if he’d intended to retreat but thought better of it. 

“Step into the light.” He demands with a wavering voice.

William can tell by the way Steven swallows that he’s suddenly unsure. His courage falters and the roar of fear is back, seeping into William’s awareness until he’s bathed in it. He takes a cautionary step forward, his figure still obscured by the lack of light. When Steven doesn’t move or flinch, he takes another step and the fire from a nearby torch illuminates him fully.

Steven lifts his chin to meet his gaze and  _ finally _ he understands. 

His scent screams up William’s nose and he nearly sways when his body  _ responds _ . There’s the stink of fear, of course, but there is something else there also. It takes him a moment to wrestle with the aroma, comprehend the meaning, and then he’s holding in a groan. 

The scent is simply... Steven. 

And he smells delicious. 

The fangs in William’s mouth give a hard pang of need and he grinds his jaw to keep from baring them in the light. Instinct has a hard grip, shaking him like a rag doll while he’s overcome with the need to close the distance between himself and Steven. He’s crushed by the drive to run his nails along the satin softness of the man’s throat, to inhale at the nape of his neck, and sink his teeth into his flesh. Not to kill or injure, no. 

To  _ mark _ . 

The need to envelope Steven in his powerful scent, the thick, heady smell of him, pulses in his gut. He wants to  _ fill _ him with it.

His claws of his right hand grind into the pillar at his side as he fights against all the hunger stirring in him. Steven hasn’t looked away, hasn’t run or screamed. He stares back with wide, endless eyes and pants through parted lips. He’s afraid but he’s not running. William levels his best glare at the man and fills the tower with his voice.

“Choose.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may continue this with a chapter from Steve's POV near the end ~~I mean we all know the story~~ like...when Billy fights Gaston?? And I won't lie, I might work some smut into this one. IDK. Something's gotta inspire me. Leave me thoughts, y'all. The more ideas the better!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour of the castle had been breathtaking and haunting, but nothing had stayed with him the way the warnings had. Steven moves quickly and quietly towards the staircase that led to the west wing and a chill runs down his spine. _“It’s forbidden.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of dropping into the thick of it and skipping some narrative for the sake of A. having to rewrite the entirety of a fairytale we all know and B. so I might actually finish this mammoth of a task. I've taken some creative liberties with this, mashing different versions together and changing the dialogue to suit two men instead of a man and a woman. Yadda yadda. I hope you enjoy!

He waits until the watchful eyes of the friendly teapot, Mrs. Byers, and the grumpy clock, Hopper, were long gone before he turns back down the hall and returns the way they’d come. The tour of the castle had been breathtaking and haunting, but nothing had stayed with him the way the warnings had. Steven moves quickly and quietly towards the staircase that led to the west wing and a chill runs down his spine. 

_ “It’s forbidden.” _ The words echo in his head as he stares up into the dimly lit hall. His palms sweat as he thinks of what horrors must lie beyond the winding stairs, but his curiosity trumps his nerves and he presses on. Step after step, he climbs, the breath in his lungs quivering. 

The statues grow increasingly more grotesque as he goes, their tongues protruding and curled in frozen screams. He wonders if they too have been twisted by the curse upon the castle, just like the poor servants, their fates bound to a cruel master. Steven shudders at a specific sculpture of a demon, it’s horns carved into sharp daggers. His intuition begs for him to retreat but something inside of him eggs him on. There’s a secret to this dark place. It pulls him further down the hall. 

When Steven finally meets a door, he swallows at the marks that litter its surface. The beast has slashed his claws all over it, as if infuriated by its existence. He touches the large, ornate handle with cautious fingers, taking a long breath to steady his hand. Despite his strong words and bold proclamations, he’s trembling with trepidation. The metal is cold on his hot palm and he pulls. 

He blinks in the doorway for a long while, the darkness inside slowly forming a dim picture as his eyes adjust. There’s furniture everywhere. Walking inside, he weaves through the wreckage, mouth dry and hair on end as he takes it all in. The wood of chairs, tables, chests, and countless other objects lie shattered at his feet. It all points to violence, uncontrolled rage and immeasurable strength. Steven takes a harsh breath when his eyes spot a painting on a wall. 

It’s the only piece that remains in place, several others yanked clear from the nails. Ironically, however, the painting has all but been destroyed. Deep gouges cut clear through the canvas to the wood beneath, leaving no doubt as to the method of its demise. The beast had clawed it with a single hand, five cruel slashes running from one side to the other. Steven reaches and carefully flattens the pads of his fingers on the curled image. There are a pair of striking eyes painted on what remains and they’re blue. So very blue. Like two, icy pools of water they stare back at him. 

His heart picks up speed as he stares back. 

A faint, red glow startles him from his study. To his right, the room ends with a large, elegant balcony that looks out over the castle and grounds. But what holds his gaze is a rose. A single rose, contained inside a glass case of sorts, sitting alone on a table. It glows with such warmth that Steven is drawn to it. He crosses the room and stands before the beautiful flower, heart beating faster as he stretches out to touch the glass.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to lift the enclosure, but he does. He sets it aside and his stomach clenches, not with fear but awe.

The petals look pristine, despite the lack of water, the red hue so striking in a room full of darkness. His hand twitches with the impulse to touch, to feel the silky surface of the bloom for himself. The moment he resolves to do so, a shadow fills his vision and the room is swallowed in black.

The beast seems to appear from thin air and Steven stumbles backwards, bracing himself for an attack. It never comes. Instead, the beast whirls on the flower, grabbing the glass case to replace it over the rose in a flash of movement. He’s breathing hard, arms encircling the enclosure. 

“What did you do?” The beast snarls. Steven shudders at the tone. It’s the harshest he’s heard from his captor, nastier than even his tantrum-like yells from outside his bedroom door to  _ join him for dinner _ . No, this was much crueler. There’s hatred in his voice and Steven retreats further. 

“I didn’t do anything—”

“Do you realize what you could have done?” The beast lashes out, whirling around to face him. Steven has to look up to meet his glare and the fury he finds in the beast’s eyes takes the breath from his lungs. Rage, pure and searing, stares down at him, threatening to tear him in two. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“I told you never to come here!” The beast lunges forward and Steven trips over a broken chair, scrambling to stay upright as he’s backed into the room. He fights to find words, to find any excuse for his appearance. 

“I didn’t mean any harm!” He yells back. His voice is strained and frightened though he keeps his posture from crumbling. He won’t die cowering before his captor. He’ll die standing tall. 

“Get out!” The beast roars. Steven takes a hesitant step backwards before he’s being chased by another scream. “GET OUT!” 

Suddenly he’s flying. Running as hard as his legs will allow, Steven dashes from the room and sprints down the hall. His heart is careening in his chest, blood pounding in his ears when he makes it to the bottom of the stairs. He doesn't stop. He goes harder, grabbing his coat from the rack before he throws his bodyweight into the front door. 

It opens. He runs.

* * *

He saddles Philippe as quickly as he can manage with shaking hands, his breath white in the freezing air. His horse senses his fear and doesn’t fight against the reins, eyes wild with confusion as Steven curses. When he finally mounts and digs his heels into the animal’s sides, Philippe takes off at a unforgiving pace. 

They clear the grounds easily enough, finding the edge of the forest in a blur. Steven grapples with his memory, trying to recall the path to freedom. He’s concentrating hard on finding the road, so hard that he nearly misses the first signs they are being followed.

The first wolf is nothing more than a streak of white in his peripheral vision as he pushes Philippe to a gallop in the snow. For a moment, he thinks his mind is playing tricks but then a second wolf appears ahead of them and Steven knows he’s made a mistake. Another seems to materialize from thin air, keeping pace with his horse with ease, and then another. Suddenly he’s being chased by an entire pack, their snarls filling his ears along Philippe's terrified whines. 

“Come on, boy.” He whispers into the animal’s ear, leaning down close. The horse charges on, dodging the predators that close in around them. But soon the sound of snapping teeth brings the chase to halt as Philippe rears up in fear, sending Steven flying through the air. He lands in the snow, hard, and his vision swims. 

“Philippe.” He moans, watching as his horse is surrounded, hungry wolves circling their prey. Shaking his head, he forces himself onto his feet. “HEY!” He screams. 

Six pairs of eyes turn to him and he swallows. Grabbing a nearby, discarded tree limb, he holds it in his hands. “COME GET ME!” His head throbs from his fall, but adrenaline has him focused, eyes darting from one target to the next. “COME ON!”  

The animals abandon the larger threat to turn and slowly start to approach him. The moment Philippe sees a gap in the perimeter, he bolts and Steven watches his horse run for freedom. A part of him feels relief at the sight. The horse would go home. His father would take care of him. His father wouldn’t be alone. 

Another part of him wants to weep for the creature to take him home too. He doesn’t want to die alone. He tightens his hands on the branch and mirrors the snarls moving towards him. 

He won’t die without a fight.

The lead wolf lowers itself when it nears, front lip retreating until all of its teeth sparkle in the moonlight. Despite his fear, Steven takes a swing at the animal with a grunt. The branch misses its target and the wolf catches it in its mouth, holding fast. 

Steven tugs but his body goes cold with shock. He’s lost. That quickly. The wolves surround him and he clenches his eyes closed, pulling desperately on the branch while he waits for them to descend. He waits to die. 

Instead, a loud  _ whack _ shocks his eyes open, just in time to see a wolf fly through the air into a nearby tree. In front of him, down on all fours, is the beast. Steven gasps as a wolf charges but the beast snaps the animal up in his hands like the thing weighs nothing, a hand buried in the fur behind its head. He brings it close to his face and then he roars. 

The roar shakes Steven to his core. In a moment of stunned reverence, he stares as the beast throws the wolf away before turning on the others. Then Steven snaps back to the present and dives for his forgotten branch. The beast charges and swipes at the attackers, claws extended and mighty as he bats them away. Steven attempts the same with his brittle stick. He makes quick work of one animal, taking advantage of the distraction caused by the beast. Landing a particularly solid swing into a wolf’s side, his branch cracks in half and Steven lets out a sigh of relief. Maybe he would see the end of the night.

The sound of his broken weapon echoes in the clearing and the beast turns his head to see Steven panting, a goofy sense of pride filling his chest. 

Until he sees the wolf crawling up behind the beast. 

“LOOK OUT!”

His warning is too late. The wolf connects with the beast’s thick bicep and its teeth  _ sink _ into the skin. The resulting howl of pain makes Steven’s stomach roll as he charges through the clumping snow, swinging his shattered tree limb at the few wolves that remain. They evade him easily and turn their attention to the wounded beast. His blood oozes onto the snow around them, startling red smeared into bright white. Steven watches numbly as the beast takes them all. He hits some of them, knocking them instantly unconscious, while he throws others. The battle is quick but brutal, several wolves catching the beast by the meat of his arms and ankles, sending more blood into the snow. He doesn’t stop. He swings and twists and fights with claws and teeth. When it finally slows and the beast huffs in exhaustion, Steven steps forward. 

Their eyes connect and he gasps. 

The beast’s eyes are blue. Icy, glittering blue. 

Movement draws Steven’s eye and his chest seizes. A lone wolf stalks towards them but the beast makes no move to fight back. His body sags in the snow as he moves to block the creature’s path and shield Steven from view. When the beast looks back, his eyes are dull with acceptance. 

The look sends a surprising pang of sadness to Steven’s stomach and he grabs his broken branch with numb fingers. As the wolf charges, Steven throws his branch over the beast’s bulk and it connects, bringing the attack to a slamming halt. With a yell, he tears after the animal and lashes out with a foot. He’s shocked when the kick connects and the animal falls back into a pile of snow. And stays down. 

Suddenly everything is silent. Silent and still. 

“I think that’s all of them.” His voice sounds foreign in the serene quiet. Turning, Steven can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face. He’d faced down a pack of wolves and survived. His smile vanishes a moment later. 

The beast is lying motionless in the snow. 

Without thinking twice, he finds himself falling to the beast’s side and rolling him, panting in fear. 

“Hey.” He whispers, hands slick with blood as his palms slide against damp fur. There’s more blood than he’d realized and Steven feels a swell of panic squeeze his ribs. “Hey, come on. We won.” 

The beast’s eyes flutter open and Steven heaves a panicked sigh. 

“Come on. You have to help me.” He coaxes softly, his hands gripping one of the beast’s arms. “I can help you walk but you have to stand.”

Blue eyes blink up at him before he sees a nod of understanding. Then the mighty creature is pulling on Steve’s grip, using it as an anchor to stand. He grunts with exertion but holds true, helping the huge beast to his feet. And then he tucks under one large arm, letting the beast rest his weight across his shoulders as they make the journey back to the castle.

* * *

The west wing is filled with candlelight when Steven helps the beast settle into his bed. It amazes him how the evening had started with him running from the room, fearing for his life, only to return to it, holding his helpless captor upright. But he knows he’s done the right thing when the chorus of servants cry out in dismay upon their arrival. Mrs. Byers gives orders while everyone scampers about, readying hot water and towels and other supplies while Steven holds the beast tight and helps him up the stairs. 

By the time they’re settled in his chambers, the room is glowing with warmth. Debris has been pushed aside and the fireplace is lit, heat flushing out the cold. The large canopy bed is made and awaiting its master’s presence as the beast falls into the crisp sheets, letting out a groan. 

“Carefully.” Steven whispers, helping him sit upright against the headboard. There are cuts all over his body, his fur sticky with blood as they dry. 

“My dear…” Mrs. Byers rolls forward on a cart, a pile of linens at her side. Steven takes one and pours hot water into it from her spout.

“We’ll need bandages.” He states, folding the cloth to fit in his palm. “And perhaps another blanket.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Byers turns and no doubt delegates the order to another, but Steven is focused on the large cuts in the beast’s back. 

They’re the worst of all, leaking steadily. 

“This will hurt.” He murmurs before he presses into the gashes with a firm hand. The beast twists away and snarls. 

“OW.” Steven follows and attempts the move again but the beast evades. 

“If you hold still—”

“THAT HURTS.” The beast bellows, his voice raising the hair on Steven’s arms. But he ignores the instinctive reaction, remembering the look in his captor’s eyes when the last wolf had descended. He had been willing to die to protect him, his prisoner. The beast wouldn’t hurt him now.

“If you held still, it wouldn’t hurt as much.” Steven retorts, eyeing the fresh flow of blood in his coat. 

“If you hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened.” The beast snarls back, voice dropping low with malice. Steven levels a stare at him and his blood turns to flame.

“You told me to get out!”

“You shouldn’t have been in the west wing and you know it!” The beast squints with fury but the fire in Steven’s pulse only fans hotter. 

“If you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!”

The beast’s expression shifts from anger to mild irritation, the frown on his face going slack. 

“If you hadn’t trespassed—”

“If you could control your temper, none of this would have happened.” Steven hisses, throwing the towel from his hand to the floor with an undignified slap. The room falls silent, all eyes focused on the pair of them, huffing breaths at each other on the bed. Eventually, the beast’s gaze dulls and he looks away. 

“I’m not the one throwing towels to the floor.” 

Steven blinks before a scoff slips from his lips. 

“Child.”

The beast whips his head around, eyes wide in surprise.

“What did you call me?”

“I called you a child.” Steven repeats, reaching for another towel as an agast Mrs. Byers pours more water onto the outstretched cloth. “Now let me clean your wounds before they get infected.”

The beast glares from his perch on the bed but says nothing. Begrudgingly, he turns to expose his clawed back. 

This time, when Steven presses into his flesh, he feels the tremor of pain under his palm but the beast makes no sound of protest. He smirks to himself. One simple blow to his ego and the beast was behaving. He made note of the weakness and continued mopping up until blood no longer broke the surface.

“There now.” He says softly, adjusting to clean another section. “That wasn’t so horrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated, ideas too! ~~especially if they stir my muse~~ Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William heals from his wounds and finds himself falling for Steven's sweetness. Time passes and they grow closer as the curse continues to take hold of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff and stuff. I hope you enjoy!

He’s healed before the sun rises. He can feel the taunt pull of fresh skin and the itch of returning fur. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself on the opposite side of a pack of wolves. It probably wouldn’t be the last. William rises in the morning and dresses himself, careful to not rouse the man lounging on a ratty couch in front of the fire. 

Steven. 

He hadn’t left his side, all night long, as if he were worried. As if he cared. William pauses to watch him sleep and contemplates the crazy idea. The man had cleaned him and bandaged him out of gratitude and obligation, not compassion. This he knew.

But he can’t help himself from hoping as he gazes down at Steven. He’s beautiful in his sleep, expression relaxed and devoid of any fear or concern. Carefree. The look seems to erase years from his face and his youth shines through. William’s hand burns to touch the soft curve of Steven’s cheek, feel the warm of his skin against his. His eyes fall to his hand and he pulls away from the couch. His clawed, cruel  _ paws  _ would never be gentle enough to stroke such a delicate surface. He didn’t even deserve the thought of such intimacy. 

In his mind’s eye, he tries to recall his human hands. He tries to remember the golden hue of his skin, silky feel of his palms and the strength in his grip. He’d been handsome, once. He’d been desirable too. During great dances, he’d wooed men and women with the simple gesture of a handshake. A playful drag of his thumb across knuckles or a knowing smile and he had anyone eating out of his palm. Now? Now he couldn’t even look at Steven without recoiling with disgust at his own foolish pining. He clenches his fist and his nails extend, tips curved to sharp points. No, he isn’t capable of sweet, tender affection. Not anymore. 

“I never did thank you.” 

Steven’s voice startles William around in a flurry of movement, shoving his hands behind his back as if he had a reason to hide them. Sitting upright, Steven looks rested but still foggy from sleep.

“Thank me?” He stumbles over the words as he grapples with the sight before him. The white, loose shirt on Steven’s frame is one of his, he realizes, and it hangs open at the neck to expose the dark dusting of hair on the man’s chest. His long, brown hair is tousled from sleep and William feels the urge to slide his fingers through it, tuck the ends behind Steven’s ears. 

“For saving my life.” He clarifies, sitting up further. William wrinkles his nose in confusion.

“I should be the one thanking you.” 

The playful laugh that bubbles from Steven’s lips has William nearly swaying on his feet. 

“Alright. Then you’re welcome.” Then he’s standing swiftly from the couch, padding across the room in his bare feet. Each step he takes brings William’s pulse up higher. “But you still saved me.”

He would lie down in front of a dozen wolves for the big, brown eyes staring up at him. William nods and swallows back the embarrassment that warms his face. How could one man make him suddenly so pliant? As Steven stands not three feet from him, he catches his scent and very quickly remembers how. 

Steven is his weakness. In the morning light, fragrant from the fire and sleep, the man makes William’s jaw ache. Fangs pulsing in his mouth, he fights for control over himself.

“I…”  _ I’m sorry for ever frightening you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you never returning. I would have fought a hundred wolves to bring you back to me. _ “You’re welcome.”

A grin spreads across Steven’s face and he nods once. Then his eyes are shifting around the room. 

“This place looks so different in the daylight.”

William winces as he looks around his chambers. They’re a disaster, even in the glow of the rising sun. His once elegant furnishings, if not smashed to pieces, are falling apart. When first turned, he hadn’t been able to stop the flow of rage that had overcome him. He’d torn into everything in sight, ripping and shredding until he’d fallen exhausted to the floor. Every mirror, shattered. Every painting, mutilated. 

Except one. 

The one he couldn’t bear to completely ruin. 

He can sense the moment Steven spots the canvas, tucked behind a curtain on a far wall. There’s a wave of something spicy in the air, like excitement. 

“May I?” William is surprised by the timid question as Steven gestures to the portrait, hesitating to draw near without permission. He wants to tell him he can do as he pleases, but refrains, choosing to simply nod. 

The sound of Steven’s bare feet on the floor fills the silent room. With a careful hand, he draws back the large, heavy silk and tucks it away, and a new fragrance fills the air. 

Sadness. 

It’s weak, like a bad cup of tea, and flowery, combating Steven’s naturally exquisite scent. William wants to turn away and ignore the mirroring sadness that grows in his chest, but he can’t bring himself to miss the expressions on Steven’s face. 

“Is this…?” He reaches out and touches the intricate frame with his fingertips, following the design. William swallows and the instinct to run fills his legs. How long has it been since he’d uttered their names? How long since he’d recollected them to someone who didn’t know them?

“My parents.” He answers with a rough voice. Steven looks back at him with an open, easy expression and William positively melts. There’s such kindness in the man’s face, he finds himself slowly drawing near. Steven turns back around to gaze up at the painting. 

“And this is you.” He brushes a single finger over the chest of the child in the painting. The figure is small and doughy, stuffed into a suit with frilly lace and gaudy fastenings. William had been too young to recall posing for the painter, but he remembers the outfit. He’d fussed endlessly in it and his mother had smothered him in kisses to keep him content. 

“Yes.” He whispers, coming to a stop behind Steven’s back. 

“Why did you do this?” Steven murmurs, fingers tracing the scratches that litter the child’s face. His words aren’t judgmental but sad. William wants to reach out and hide the painting from view, dismiss the pain that slices through him. Instead, he chooses to stand silent, staring up at the canvas. Steven watches him from over his shoulder and his eyes eventually follow his, landing on a figure that was all but ripped clean from the frame. 

“Your father.” Steven breathes. William bristles and a small growl leaves his lips. 

“King Cornelius III.” 

There’s a moment where he debates rectifying the mistake of leaving even a scrap of his father on the painting. Not beside  _ her. _ But he would never risk hurting the precious rest of the image. 

“Your mother.” Steven’s hand brushes the edge of her skirts and William hums. 

“Helena.” He says her name like a prayer and Steven glances back, eyes wide with shock. Had his voice wavered too much? William clears his throat and looks away. “She died when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.” The sickly sweet stink of sadness that hits him makes his throat close up and he shakes his head, as if to toss the emotion away. “My mother died when I was a baby.” William’s body goes slack as his head snaps back to Steven. The man’s face is flat, expressionless, but his scent deepens, his despair harder to distinguish from his natural aroma. “I never knew her.” He shrugs. “My father never spoke of her, except that her name was Rose. And every time he would leave town to sell the livestock, she would request that he bring her back a single rose.” 

William’s jaw flexed in rage. Steven was there because his father had stolen a rose. He should have let the old man leave, should have let him return to his son. Instead, he’d condemned their family much like himself.

All for a flower.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts, guilt shuddering through his chest. He’s sorry for Steven’s grief, but he’s also sorry for so much more. Steven nods with a weak smile before he reaches up again and strokes the lines of his mother’s dress, traces the folds of the fabric.

“She was beautiful.”

William stares up at his mother and tries not to lose himself in the anguish he feels stirring in his stomach. The painter had captured her face perfectly. High, delicate cheekbones, honey skin and rich golden curls. She was every bit the beauty expected of royalty. But she had been so much more than a gorgeous face. His mother had been kind, warm, and generous; everything his father was not. 

Whenever his memory of her had grown hazy and her image would fade, William would stand and look up at her. He would weep for the mother he’d lost and the love that he’d never feel again.

“She loved the gardens.” He recalls aloud, a smile tickling at the corners of his mouth. Steven’s scent brightens, a sharp tang filling the air. 

Happiness. 

“I would love to see them.”

* * *

“Tell me about your village.” William asks one morning, when the sun has just lifted over the horizon and the clouds are pink and orange. They'd taken to walking the gardens each morning, wandering the grounds as long as they please. William is bundled for the cold, but feels no chill when the rays hit him. He feels no cold when Steven is near. 

“What’s to tell?” Steven said with a coy smile. “I grew up on a farm. My father is an artist, but we needed to eat. So we grew crops, raised chickens.” He shrugs and William wants to prod him for more, ask him to paint every detail with his words. He’d only ever known his own sort of life: elegant and luxurious. He’d never done a day’s work before the curse and he wouldn’t have cared to. Now? Now he found himself curious. He wondered how someone that had been given every advantage, such as himself, had wound up miserable while someone who’d worked hard for every meal found beauty in everything. 

“Did you enjoy living on a farm?” William asks in earnest. Steven strides alongside him, boots shuffling in fluffy snow. He gives a little laugh and his eyes wrinkle at the corners. 

“When I wasn’t exhausted?” Those brown eyes find his in a little glance and William’s stomach clenches. “Yes. I suppose, I enjoyed the open fields quite a bit.” He lifts his head, gazing out at the grounds beyond and he sighs. “Though they seem dull in hindsight, given all this.” 

William follows his stare and tries to appreciate it, finds it easier to do so when Steven steps into view, dark hair curled behind his ears. Everything about the castle seems to be easier with Steven around.

“I always hated the winters here.” William said quietly, turning away so Steven wouldn’t see him watching him in awe. “Of course I would be cursed to live in the constant state of it.” A laugh turns his head and Steven is looking back at him, eyes twinkling. 

“But it’s beautiful.” He gestures out across a pond. “Look at the trees. The water?” His gloved hand falls to his side as he sighs. “It’s breathtaking.”

William hums and looks back out over the landscape, admittedly less annoyed by the cold now that he knows Steven appreciates it. Without thinking, William gazes out over the snow and whispers. 

_ “The air is blue and keen and cold, _ _   
_ _ With snow the roads and fields are white _ _   
_ _ But here the forest's clothed with light _ _   
_ _ And in a shining sheath enrolled. _ _   
_ _ Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass, _ _   
_ _ Seems clad miraculously with glass. _ _   
_ _ Above the ice-bound streamlet bends _ _   
_ __ Each frozen fern with crystal ends."

When he finishes, his feels an odd tickle at his eyes and he blinks it away. 

“That was…” Steven’s eyes are wide as he looks up at him and William fidgets. But a hand shoots out to rest on his forearm, keeping him grounded and pulling his gaze back to two warm, chocolate eyes. “It was beautiful.” 

If it were possible for him to blush under all the fur on his face, William was sure he would be red. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to read.” He muttered. “That passage stayed with me.” 

“I wish I could read well.” Steven answered, his hand still resting on William’s arm. He didn’t move to pull away or seem to even notice that he’d let it stay. “I learned, but never had reason to improve.”

“I can always read to you.” His throat tightens as the offer tumbles from his lips. William stiffens and holds his breath but Steven’s sweet, heavenly smell envelopes him. It loosens his posture and he inhales deep, filling his lungs with the delicious scent.

“I would like that.” 

The endless brown of Steven’s eyes swallow him up and he’s lost.

* * *

In a matter of days, the household had become alive again. Rooms, long forgotten, and furniture, long disgarded, were being uncovered. The Library had been opened and light filled it again, the sun streaming in through floor to ceiling windows now that drapes had been pushed away. Suits of armor gleamed in the halls and every surface had been dusted. The great castle looked better than it had in years and spirits were steadily rising. 

Which made it so much harder when a petal fell one morning, the foundation of the castle giving a hard shudder as more of its facade fell to decay. William is overwhelmed by dread when Hopper abruptly stops speaking in the middle of a sentence and lets out a series of chimes. His heart sinks as his friend struggles to collect himself, fumbling out of embarrassment. 

“I hate when that happens…” The clock mutters, but Steven isn’t fooled. He bends down to look at Hopper directly with an arched brow.

“Are you alright?” 

“Just fine, my boy.” Hopper’s expression lifts and he gives Steven as cheerful a look as a clock’s face would allow. “Just one of the delights of being a glorified sundial.” 

* * *

“It’s the curse, isn’t it?” Steven asks when they’re alone, eating lunch in the dining room. William pauses, a precarious spoonful of soup dangling between his mouth and his bowl. Steven waits while William carefully sips the broth. Easier said than done with a mouth full of huge canines. When he returns the spoon to his bowl, William dabs his napkin to his lips and clears his throat. 

“You’re talking about Hopper.” He states. Not a question. Steven nods, stirring his soup distractedly.

“All of them, really. Mrs. Byers couldn’t speak for almost an hour yesterday.”

William felt a rush of cold. Mrs. Byers, the kindest soul of the entire household, had been powerless as her inanimate teapot form had taken hold. He could still hear little Will begging his mother to talk to him, to wake up. The whole castle had been horrified, no one more than Steven. 

“What can I do to help?” He asks from the other end of the table and William’s head snaps back on his spine. What could he do?

_ Say you love me and be mine forever. _

He clears his throat again and shakes his head, pushing the impulsive thoughts away. 

“This isn’t your mess.” William says softly. “I’m the one who caused all of this. I’m the one who must fix it.”  _ By earning someone’s love, which I hope will be yours.  _ Steven drops his spoon into his bowl with a small clang and leans forward over the table, his expression frustrated.

“I want to help you. To help them!” He gestures to the few servants standing at the perimeter of the room and William winces. “They didn’t do anything to deserve this!” 

The guilt in his gut blooms until William feels like he’s going to be sick. It hardens in his belly like a rock, weighing him down in his chair. Almost immediately, Steven’s face goes slack with realization and he shrinks back in his seat. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“You’re right.” William interrupts the attempt to apologize and Steven’s jaw clicks shut. “I did this to them. They are doomed because of me.”

The silence between them stretches as he stares down at the tablecloth, memorizing the golden pattern sewn into the fabric. It’s beautiful and delicate and probably took someone days of hard work. The guilt of simply owning something so extravagant makes him dizzy. 

“I want to help.” Steven’s voice pulls his gaze from the table and William nearly sighs at the genuine worry that litters his beautiful face. He wants to climb over the table and pull Steven into his arms and tell him that he doesn’t deserve to be saved, not by someone as pure and kind as him. But he wants to tell him, wants to reveal the secret. Steven could be the key to happiness and all he has to do is tell him. “Beast, please.”

William recoils underneath the table, hands clenched into fists.  _ Beast. _ How could he ever imagine Steven seeing him as anything other than just that? He’s a monster, not a man. He’s an animal, a creature. 

Not a lover. 

“There’s nothing you can do.”

* * *

The idea comes to him radically one day. Standing at the balcony of the west wing, William watches Steven wandering the gardens, a horse in tow, as he makes his way to the fields beyond. He rides everyday and William wouldn’t miss it. There’s such a grace to the way he moves, rocking in the saddle and pushing his heels into the animal’s sides. But he’s always gentle. He’s always patting his horse at the neck, whispering in an ear. 

William stays away when Steven is riding, because he can’t help the intoxicating sense of  _ want _ that plagues him. As he watches Steven lead the white mare, his skin prickles with the need to reach out and touch. 

“I’ve never felt like this before.” He says aloud. Hopper settles closer to the railing, peering anxiously over the edge to see Steven below. William clears his throat. “I want to do something special for him.” 

Suddenly the thought feels foolish. 

“I think that’s a splendid idea.” Mrs. Byers appears at his hip, just as Hopper makes a face. 

“Of course you would.”

“You care about Steven, William dear.” Mrs. Byers continues, pointedly ignoring Hopper’s glower. “You should show him.”

“Oh yes, grand romantic gestures instead of practical conversions work every time. No need to worry about the impending doom looming over our heads.” Hopper mutters under his breath. William gives a low growl as the two level glares at each other. 

“That isn’t helping.” He grumbles. 

“My dear, do you care about him?” Mrs. Byers asks sweetly. 

William swallows and glances over the railing at Steven below. He’s stopped, tucking the creature’s head into his chest to stroke its nose gently. 

“I love him.”

The words slip easily from his lips and instead of embarrassment or shame, he feels a sense of relief. He loves Steven. Possibly since the moment the man had stood tall and chosen to take his father’s place in his dungeons. His brave, impulsive, beautiful Steven. He would give him the world. 

“Do you think he feels the same?” Hopper asks cautiously. 

Just then, Steven looks up and sees them all standing there, watching him from the tower. He lifts a hand and waves, which William returns awkwardly.

“I don’t know.” He answers softly. “He...seems happy here.”

“Of course he is. He’s a farm boy living in a—” Hopper’s words are cut off abruptly as Mrs. Byers steps in front of him, blocking his view. 

“A gesture of your affection would show you how he feels in return.” She says sweetly, eyes flashing a warning in Hopper’s direction, who heeds the expression and quiets any argument. “You could give him a gift.”

“Ah yes, chocolates, or maybe even roses—” Hopper is clipped short once again when Mrs. Byers nudges him with her handle. 

“Dinner.” She says with a wide smile. William arches one brow. 

“We have dinner every night.”

“A dance.” She suggests. “In the ballroom, like the dances you used to hold.”

William looks down as Steven mounts the mare, smoothly cuing her into a soft trot. He swallows hard at the idea of moving against such a lithe, elegant body with his own. His heart triples in speed just thinking of it. 

“I don’t know.” He whispers. “What if he doesn’t—”

“You won’t know until you try.” Mrs. Byers interjects. “And dearest William…” He looks down at the pristine, white teapot and longs to see her kind, human face looking back at him. “...you are  _ going _ to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 will be up soon, my dears.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yearning gives way after a dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally. ;) Enjoy!

When the beast had asked for Steven if he would join him in the ballroom after dinner, he’d found himself accepting without hesitation. Ironically, he looks forward to it, despite not knowing the first thing about dancing. He anticipates it, excited by the idea of being pulled across the room by a strong pair of hands and maybe even  _ held _ . He wonders what it will feel like to be in the beast’s arms. Their interactions are always glancing; thrilling but fleeting. It leaves Steven wishing for more; wishing he had the nerve to reach out and take what he wants, whatever it is. He doesn’t quite know what it means but the rush of being close to the beast is like a river under his skin. It begs for more than just a brush of a hand. Something inside him begs to be  _ awakened _ .

Steven is daydreaming of being held tight when he returns to his chambers that evening, walking through his bedroom doors. The moment he enters the room, Mrs. Byers is gliding in behind him. 

“Mrs. Henderson, I hope you have something hidden away in your drawers for our prince tonight!” She calls.

Steven whirls as a slew of servants rush in behind her, his room suddenly filled with commotion. 

“Prince—?” He’s suddenly swept up in long ribbons of fine silks as Mrs. Henderson, his wardrobe, pulls him towards her.

“Only the best for our very best!” She sings to him, twirling him to the croon of her voice. “I see you in a vision of white, my love. White and silver and NO—”

She stops spinning him and Steven lets out a little giggle, his head spinning. The moment he’s still, his hair is being combed and tied back at the base of his neck. 

“Gold.” The wardrobe breathes; she starts to sing a soothing soprano, her voice filling the air and tingling down Steven’s spine. The melody is light and airy as fabric descends, spanning his shoulders and wrapping around his torso. He watches, bewitched, as the garment is made in a matter of moments. Warm, honey-colored silk seems to melt into a beautiful jacket, taking his breath away. It slides perfectly over his white shirt while fitted trousers hang just right on his long legs and his feet are coaxed into shined shoes. 

“There now.” Mrs. Byers coos over Mrs. Henderson’s tune. “You’re a vision.”

“Ah ah ah!” Mrs. Henderson corrects, a fluttering of ribbons and bows emerging from her drawers. “It needs something….” Steven is twirled once again, a smile wide on his face.

As if on cue, something starts to drip from the ceiling, floating through the air to the surface of the suit. Shimmering, liquid gold brushes across the fabric, embellishment forming before his very eyes. When Steven moves his limbs to admire the design, the garment shines. 

“It’s wonderful, Mrs. Henderson.” He whispers. His palms flutter over the material and his face heats. Never in his life has he ever had such finery. Never in his life has he ever wished for such things. Here, he is given them without a second thought. Here, he’s treated like a king, and yet he can give nothing in return. His throat closes as emotion weighs heavy on his chest. Mrs. Byers doesn’t miss a beat, rolling into his line of sight atop her cart. 

“Would you prefer something else, my dear?” She asks gently.

Keeping tears at bay, he shakes his head once. 

“It’s perfect.”

* * *

They meet on the stairs. Steven’s stomach is swirling as he descends the staircase and he doesn’t understand why. He’s lived in the castle for weeks now, he’s walked the stairs every day. He’s dashed down the halls chasing the playful footstool, D'Artagnan. He’s slid down the bannisters with the tea cups and candlesticks, laughing like a fool. Yet, descending the same stairs now, he finds himself nervous as he takes each step.

When he sees the beast, he suddenly understands the butterflies in his belly. 

The beast truly looks like a prince. In a finely-tailored, dark, blue suit, he looks every bit as royal as Steven had imagined a prince would be. His eyes shine in the glow of candles, matching his outfit perfectly, irises blue and glittering. His chestnut mane is brushed, gleaming and smooth around his head. To put it simply: he’s beautiful. Steven has to remind himself how to breathe. 

The beast smirks a little, then bends at the waist in a bow. The gesture startles Steven and he fumbles for a reply. From the corner of his eye, he sees Hopper on the top of the stairs and the clock is flailing his arms in an attempt to mime a similar bow. A blush fills Steven’s cheeks as he hurries to mirror the movement towards his host, hands trembling. 

“You look…” The beast starts, his gaze trailing over him. Steven’s mouth goes dry as he waits. “Well.”

Steven can’t help but let out a small chuckle. In the distance, he swears he can hear Hopper grumble a curse under his breath.

“You also.” He replies with a grin, his nerves settling as he remembers. This isn’t a prince standing before him, this is the person he’s spent every day with since his arrival. This is the person he’d fought with, laughed with, and ate with for weeks. He’d cleaned the beast’s wounds for goodness sake. He was not a stranger. He was a friend. A companion. “Shall we?” Steven asks, extending a hand. The beast blinks before a wide smile fills his face. 

Steven’s body tingles from that smile. It affects him more everyday. An arm is offered and Steven takes it, his hand only a little shaky as they descend the rest of the stairs to the ballroom. Music begins to play and Steven abruptly remembers: he can’t dance. His anxiousness returns and his palms grow clammy.

“I should mention…” He whispers under the song, leaning into the beast’s side. “I don’t know how to dance.”

He can’t bring himself to meet his host’s gaze and disappointment grows in his stomach as silence stretches between them. It was short sighted of him to only reveal his inadequacy now, while they stood in the middle of a gleaming ballroom. Steven’s surprised when a warm touch brushes across his chin and lifts his face. A large finger tilts his jaw so he meets his host’s eyes. 

“Don’t worry.” It’s impossible for him to speak as he stares into the beast’s devastating blue gaze. A grin lifts one side of his host’s lips. “I’ll lead you.”

Then he does. One of his great arms circles Steven’s waist and one of his hands is held tight in a warm grasp. The contact burns and sends a shock of longing through his core, robbing him of coordination as they start to move. Steven squeezes involuntarily, pressing into the heat of the beast’s broad chest while his heart beats wildly. Before he can catch his breath, they turn, gracefully gliding across the room. The beast’s long legs carry them in such great strides, Steven struggles to keep up. His breath comes and goes in rapid pants as he stares down at his shoes, trying to mimic the movements of his dancing partner. 

A soft chuckle brings his head up. 

“You’re terrible at this.” The beast teases with an arch of his brow. Steven straightens his spine. 

“I wasn’t being modest, I never—” He stumbles and the beast’s strong arm grips him hard and keeps him on his feet. A blush blooms over his cheeks and he swears a purr hums in his partner’s chest. 

“I’ll carry you if I have to.” 

The idea burns hot on Steven’s skin, flowing from his cheeks to his neck.

“I’m not  _ that _ bad at it.” He murmurs under his breath, leaning in to hide his face in the beast’s shoulder. A laugh tickles his temple and Steven shivers. The song changes, the melody slowing down. His body grows hot as he’s pulled in close, a breath stroking his neck. 

“Feel the rhythm, let it guide you.” 

Steven swallows and tries to obey, only to trip on the beast’s foot once again. He tries to pull away but his partner keeps him in place, not allowing him to retreat. 

“Just…” The beast tucks his head against Steven’s jaw. “...feel how I move.” Steven obeys. Lowering one hand to his partner’s hip, he feels each twitch of muscle, each sway. His pulse thunders in his veins and his hand trembles. “There.” The beast whispers into his ear. 

“Like this?” Steven murmurs, his feet somehow managing to remain untangled despite his inability to think of anything else except his hand resting on the beast’s hip and the arm wrapped around his back. 

“Just like that.” 

* * *

They retire to the balcony outside the ballroom after several songs. Steven stands at the railing, overlooking the vast gardens below as he gives his aching feet a well-deserved rest. He can recall a time when he’d hated the sight of the grounds, wishing to run and never return. But those feelings are long dormant. He marvels at the snowfall and the beautiful sparkling landscape. The cheer in him is bright from a night of music and laughter and lingering touches. Never had he imagined he would find himself so happy.

He can sense the beast at his back, can feel his warmth and see his shadow cast on the floor by the moon above. The memory of big hands on his arm, back and shoulders while they’d danced makes him ache. His hands still burn from the feel of him under his palms and he wants to reach back and pull him into an embrace, but cannot find the courage. 

Instead, he turns his head and smiles. 

“I can’t imagine what this place must have been like, before.” He says quietly.

The beast moves closer, his arm brushing past as he stands beside Steven at the railing. 

“In the spring, the roses would bloom and the whole castle would smell like them.” He replies with a smile in his voice. “My mother had fresh bouquets in every room.” His body tenses and Steven glances over, spotting the shift in his expression. What was once happy became guarded. “My father didn’t allow such things when she was gone.” 

“I’m sorry.” Pushing past his uncertainty, Steven reaches out and runs a hand down the beast’s forearm until his hand rests atop his. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

The beast stares down at their hands before slowly meeting Steven’s eyes. 

“You make me happy, Steven.” He purrs. A heat grows in Steven’s stomach and his muscles clench. 

“I feel...the same.” He manages. Emotions swirl in his gut, unsure and difficult to describe. The beast maintains eye contact, his gaze searing and intense. Parting his lips, Steve inhales to catch his breath.

And his knees nearly give out. 

His lungs fill with the most exquisite fragrance, the scent overtaking him in a single breath. He gazes up at the beast and sees blue eyes with pupils blown wide. Steven’s tongue feels heavy as he tries to speak, groggy with an unknown need. 

“That smell.” He sighs, the aroma engulfing him with tones of sweet and savory, like a dark, fine chocolate. It overpowers his senses, makes him boneless. “What is that?” He asks groggily. 

The heat between them grows as the beast inches closer, his body coming up behind Steven’s back. 

“Me.” 

The word sends a shudder all over Steven’s skin and he sighs again, eyes closing in bliss. His mind is no longer his own, held captive by the swimming delight of his body. 

“What’s happening?” 

A large, clawed hand grazes Steven’s hip and he melts into it, allows it to grip and pull him in. When his back is flush to the tall, hard front of the beast, a groan unwinds from his chest and he breathes a little harder. Every inhale brings more of the intoxicating scent into his lungs, making him pliant and loose in the clutches of his host. He realizes he feels no fear despite the new intimacy of their proximity. In fact, he finds himself arching back hungrily to meet each touch. 

“I’m not quite sure.” The beast whispers into his ear and Steven gasps at the pass of his breath against his neck. He’s alive with sensation, his consciousness humming. “I’ve never felt this before.”

“Never?” Steven reaches back and his hand finds a thick thigh, which he grips tight. The beast growls into his temple and they press ever closer. 

“Just with you.” He admits in a strained voice. “When I’m around you...I want…” His breath trails over Steven’s cheek. “I’m not in control.” The hand on Steven’s hip eases, like he intends to pull away and Steven grabs it, holding it in place.

“Don’t.” He whispers, panting. The hand grasps him again but the beast’s voice sounds thin. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.” Steven doesn’t know where his bravery comes from, or if it’s bravery at all. It may be foolishness, born of delirium. But he doesn’t fear the strong body braced against him, not like he had upon his arrival. If anything, he appreciates it, knows it as if it were his own. The beast’s touch tightens on his hip and Steve lets his head fall back. “I trust you.”

The beast’s containment seems to snap then, his arm shooting up to lock around Steven’s chest, a hand gripping his shoulder. He’s trapped against the mighty creature and yet he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t feel anything but  _ excitement. _

The gentle brush of the beast’s snout on Steven’s neck sends a ripple of pleasure through him and he sags into the strong embrace, shivering. Not a word is said between them, only moans. Gasps. Breathy whines. The beast touches Steven’s throat with his mouth, runs his lips along the line of Steven’s jaw, and exhales softly against his pulse. When Steven thinks he might burst into flame, there’s a sharp sensation dragging across his skin.  _ Fangs _ . Drunk on desire and the weight at his back, he tilts his head to open his throat and whimpers a single word. 

“Yes.”  

The beast groans, arms tightening around Steven’s chest, and then he strikes. Fast and hard.

Spots fill Steven’s vision and he lets out a cry of ecstasy, a hand finding purchase in the beast’s ample mane. The bite isn’t gentle, the points of his teeth digging painfully into the softness of Steven’s neck until tears fall from his eyes. But euphoria trumps any discomfort. He moans endlessly as the beast licks at him only to bite again. His voice fills rings out into the air alongside deep, throaty growls. It’s heaven. Their bodies rock against each other, moving to an easy rhythm, and it seems to last an eternity. One bite leads to another, then another, the sensations bleeding into one endless, wonderful throb of bliss. Steve holds on for dear life, shaking as the frenzy builds to another crest and falls, broken by another luxurious caress of a tongue followed by a powerful grip of the beast’s jaws. He peaks over and over, one hand scratching at the big arm around his chest while the other pulls on a handful of fur. Pulls him in for more and more.   

Eventually, the beast’s arm loosens around his middle and his bite turns to a simple nuzzle at his nape. Steven drops his head and pants for air, spent and trembling. He’s drained and his throat feels raw but only pleasure continues to pulse through his body, pooling at juncture of his hips. 

“Beast.” He whispers, his fingers still tangled in long, silky hair. His captor stills against him and Steven realizes he’s never called him by his true name. His  _ real _ name. Not even now, after the intimacy they’d just shared. “William.” He corrects, looking over his shoulder to find the beast’s eyes. 

They’re wide and glowing, a purr emanating from parted lips. 

“Say it again.” He breathes. Not a command but a plead. Steven turns and presses a hand to the the beast’s chest. The heart beneath his palm is beating rapidly, like his own. 

“William.”

For a moment, he thinks the beast,  _ William _ , is going to strike again, his gaze smoldering with lust. But then those beautiful, blue eyes darken and he steps away.

“I hurt you.” William’s voice is rough and heavy and Steven reaches out to pull him back. 

“No.”

“I have.” When their eyes meet again, Steven can see guilt lingering on William’s face. 

“I promise, I am  _ many things _ …”  _ Starving. Dying to do that again.  _ “...but not hurt.” After a moment of study, William grasps his hand and is leading him to a window. “What—?”

“Look.” He’s pushed in front of the glass and Steven can’t help but gasp at his reflection. 

His neck is bright red and very dark in places, the skin angry and swollen. He touches it gingerly, amazed at how little it hurts despite the horrifying number of teeth marks mottling his throat. Spots of purple bloom from where fangs had sunk deep but the skin remains unbroken.

“I’m a monster.” William’s drifts away and Steven turns to see him stumbling back, fury and horror mixing in his features. 

“No.” Steven’s hard denial brings William to a halt. “I wanted you do to it—”

“You didn’t give me permission to mark you like an animal.” William’s voice is low and angry and Steven’s skin prickles. Not with fear but with awareness. Somehow, he feels in sync with each emotion between them, like their connection has not quite been severed. It takes a moment for his head to catch up as he drowns in William’s self-loathing.   

“Mark me?”

“Yes. Mark you.” William’s eyes fall on Steven’s throat and he can’t help but shudder as he sees fangs elongate, pushing against William’s lips. He would bite him again, that very moment, if Steven asked and he is  _ very _ tempted to ask. To beg. But his head rebels from the drunken needs of his body, pulling him back into the present. 

“To possess me.” He states, filling in the gaps. “Like a thing.”

“Don’t be stupid.” William snarls. Steven clenches his fists and marches towards him. It brings him a little satisfaction to see the big, intimidating William fidget as he nears. 

“Am I stupid? You claim to have marked me. Am I now yours to do with as you please?” He gestures at his neck, cheeks heating with anger.

“Of course not!” William growls. A tingle rushes down Steven’s spine. 

“Are you sure?” He moves closer, emboldened by the throbbing  _ want _ in his veins. “You could overpower me. Take what you want.” A part of him is thrilled by the idea and oh so willing, yet his conscious mind rebels, lashing out; but the instant he says the words, he regrets them. William’s eyes go steely and he blinks slowly. Hurt. He’s hurt by the implication and Steven winces. 

“I could never do that to you.” His heart nearly stops as William looks away. “I could never do anything to make you...unhappy.” His voice grows small, soft and a little sad as he stares out the balcony to the night beyond. “I would do anything for you.” 

Steven can hear his heart screaming in his ribs. He feels trapped between desire and reality. Deep down, he wants William to mark him over and over until he forgets how to live outside his arms. He wants to be bitten and used and  _ damn him _ possessed.

But he isn’t free. He’s a prisoner in this beautiful place, even as he’s grown ignorant of his captivity. He is prisoner, condemned to watch the charm of his companions wither away as the castle falls to ruin. Not only that, his father is alone in the world, suffering his absence on the farm while he sits in luxury, wanting for nothing. 

He knows what he wants and he knows what can’t be.

“Would you let me go?”

Two blue eyes find his and despair rolls off William. He approaches, a single hand outstretched to touch Steven’s cheek, and he accepts the glancing brush of his fingertips and swallows a sigh. In all the days they’d spent together, never had he imagined he would crave such contact. His body hums for more, his eyes falling on William’s lips. Lips that he could imagine kissing if given the chance. 

When William speaks, his chance slips away.

“Your freedom is yours.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William confronts his fate in the absence of Steven and the curse begins it's final stages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to wrap this doozy up. im not going the traditional route, so forgive me. one last one after this, babes.

He doesn’t blame Steven. Not in the least. 

The man may have come to appreciate his company, maybe even seek it out, but he missed his father. His village. His _life_. 

Staying hidden away in a condemned castle was not the fate of someone as vibrant as Steven. No, his fate was tied to something happier. Something bright. 

William knew it to be true. It was the only way he managed to watch the man pack his things to a horse and leave through the gates. He’d held himself together with the hope that maybe, one day, Steven would return to the shell of a castle. 

Maybe he’d even stop to give the husk a fond smile.

But deep down in his heart, William knows that returning would be disaster. Because inside the castle would lie a monster. A beast, without a heart. Or a soul.

And he hopes Steven would know to stay away. Far away from _him_.

* * *

The breath of life that had returned to the castle from Steven’s presence seemed to die in a matter of hours.

What was once warm and inviting turned to cold. Dark shadow. The servants were quiet as they moved about, as if the entire household was in mourning. 

It didn’t surprise anyone when a petal fell the following day. It snowed for hours that day. Piling drifts high atop the stone, thick and wet and heavy. Wind whistled and ice rained down until the very ground began to shake and William watched a petal slip loose of its hold on the rose. Flutter free and fall. 

The howl that left him was not one of despair, though his heart was broken. It was a howl of instinct. A howl that ripped through his body and left his throat hoarse and raw. 

His nature, coming for him. 

Mrs. Byers had trembled under his wrath, watched in horror as he’d snarled and snapped, shaking his head like he could fight off his curse. Could will himself back to sanity against all the cruel odds against him. 

The facade of the castle fell into further ruin and the household had simply watched. Witnessed their doom and it’s swift descent. 

* * *

He dreams of Steven, for the first time in the days since his absence. William lets the fantasy surround him, wrap him in a fake sense of security as he opens his eyes to the beautiful face of his beloved.

Beloved. 

He laments his ever letting Steven go, but never regrets it. The man is smiling at him, bright like the sun and warm to the touch. He reaches out, a question on his lips. 

“Are you well?” 

William shudders under his soft caress, leans into it and whimpers when it leaves his skin.

_Skin_. 

He looks down at his hands, sees his _fingers_ for the first time in years. Not claws, with nails designed to maim. But fingers, with short, blunt nails and tanned skin. Soft from years of luxury and pink at the palms. 

“Steven.” He breathes, reaching for his lover. But his chest holds fast, squeezes tight. He chokes, reaching for him. “ _Please_.” 

The warmth of the man’s face breaks as he rushes for him, grabs him around the chest to brace his weight. William keens in Steven’s arms, presses his lips to his cheek. This, he thinks, is not a dream. 

It is torture. 

A vision of things that he could never hope to see. 

“It’s okay.” Steven is cooing to him, brushing his hand over his hair. His _hair_. Thick and gold, it tangles around Steven’s fingers in ringlets. Billy weeps at the sight. He is human and Steven is holding him. Pressing his lips to William’s forehead. “You’re going to be fine.” 

But he’s not. 

He can feel the ache of hunger in his gut, roiling deep and dark. The beast in him is calling him, summoning him home.

“I miss you.” He frantically whispers into Steven’s embrace. “I wish I could have seen you. One last time.”

“No!” Steven’s voice rings out, loud in his ears. He winces, tries to stay in the dream, but the ache grows louder. “William!” 

When he wakes, he’s covered in snow. Covered in snow and lying in the forest. Not lying, standing. 

Standing, with his claws extended, his breath coming in forceful pulls. 

And a tree lies in front of him, it’s bark ruined. Ruined by the dozens of slashes that mark its surface. Deep, angry cuts that mar the softer wood beneath. His claws _ache_ and William drops to his knees, tears springing to his eyes. 

There’s only one petal left. One more drop before the fall. And he loses his mind for good.

* * *

A dark storm settles over the castle in the days that follow. His dreams don’t return, and he’s grateful; especially after seeing the concern on the faces of his friends when he’d returned from the woods. Their horror at his blooded hands. Even his nakedness is alarming, in a way.

Through everything, he’d always maintained his humanity in that. His _decency_. What little respect for himself he had left, it seemed, was stripped away. The beast had claimed him as Steven had called to him in his dreams. 

He tries not to sleep after that. He fails, a few times, succumbing to exhaustion in the library, a book in hand. He’d been reading Shakespeare to Steven before he left. Poetry and love stories and yet it only makes him weaker. Makes him shudder at his loneliness. 

It’s different than it was before, his brokenness. In the beginning, he’d been angry. He’d turned his fury on anything in his path and destroyed beauty to _feel_ anything besides empty. 

Now, he feels too much. He’s full to the brim, ladened with it. He carries his anguish on his shoulders as he walks the halls lost in thought. Lost in memories. 

Steven’s scent. The taste of his skin on his tongue. It’s all a burden. A terrible echo in his mind. 

He gives into his memories at night. Uses them to imagine taking Steven to his bed. Lying beside him, not as a creature, but a man. He replaces all his previous lovers with just one. The man he could never have, but will never leave him. 

He imagines waking in his arms, memorizing the sleepy expression on his lover’s face. He _aches_ to hold him close. To share his bed, his life, his everything.

When the sun rises, as it sometimes does, William sees the rose’s last petal shudder. A last cry before it relinquishes its hold on life, and he knows he will be lost before the sun rises again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven, plagued by nightmares, returns to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. so. yeah I'm trying to finish this but I can't seem to keep from drawing it out. also, I have no idea what I'm doing with this mythology. I'm just...making it up because I do what I want apparently? Hope you like it.
> 
> ALSO, my darling darling [@kelpie-earnest](https://kelpie-earnest.tumblr.com/) posted INCREDIBLE artwork [here](https://kelpie-earnest.tumblr.com/post/179944611915/hop-you-beautiful-human-this-is-for-you) and [here](https://kelpie-earnest.tumblr.com/post/177773950570/alright-i-realized-its-already-a-long-post-like) and [here](https://kelpie-earnest.tumblr.com/post/177984213705/based-on-hoppnhorns-tale-as-old-as-time) of this AU and I want everyone to SEE and be as in love as I am. I bow down.

The castle is a ruin. 

That’s the first thing he can see, even from a distance; the facade of the great structure is crumbling. Like he’s been gone centuries, not days. Perhaps a couple of weeks, at the most. There’d been a lot to explain, many things to say. 

His father, bless him, had all but smothered him when he’d appeared, well dressed and healthy and very  _ alive _ .  It’d taken so much convincing to leave again. So many reassurances and excuses and promises.

But the  _ nightmares _ , they’d gotten out of hand. To the point where he couldn’t go one night without waking up screaming, his blood cold in his veins. And it was always the same dream. Every time, on an endless loop. 

A beautiful man, standing in a field waiting for him, only to be devoured by wolves before Steven can reach him. He can’t do  _ anything _ except watch, yelling at the top of his lungs, while the man cries for him. Calls his name and begs,  _ begs _ , for Steven to save him. 

And when he wakes with tears in his eyes, Steven knows he needs to leave. 

It’s not a  _ rational _ thing, but he knows the man is William. He knows he’s in pain without him, alone and afraid and  _ sad _ , and yet there isn’t a reason in the world why he should know any of those things. 

Except that he feels them too, somewhere in the back of his mind. In those restless moments, when his father isn’t laughing and smiling and telling him just how  _ happy _ he is for Steven to be back, his mind wanders. And he feels a dark sense of  _ dread _ creep under his skin. Make a home, close to his chest. 

And then he sleeps and hears William’s voice, begging for him. 

That’s when he decides he can’t stay. Not anymore. He can’t live the life he once had in his father’s small home, surrounded by friends and neighbors and  _ life _ . No, his heart is no longer there; it’s been claimed. Far away.

By a beast.

A beast inside a castle that is falling away, turning to dust before Steven’s eyes as he rides up to the front gate. 

He doesn’t even have to open it, the stone has scattered around the road, the iron gate thrown aside. It’s unnerving, seeing the place so unguarded. So open. He swallows a cold mouthful of stale saliva, his heart running wild in his ribs as Philippe takes them up. In. 

The silence is downright terrifying. There isn’t even a breeze, though the air is ice cold. Steven pulls his cloak tighter, eyes darting everywhere to find some sort of  _ evidence _ that someone once lived here. He’d lived there, thrived there.

And this place had shattered behind him. 

“William.” He whispers to no one is particular, the sound of his voice swallowed up by the small sounds of Philippe’s hooves on stone. Each step echoes, announcing them. But nothing stirs. Nothing at all. 

 

 

The interior of the castle is cold like a tomb and filled with graves, as far as Steven can see. Graves that look like candle sticks and clocks and teapots. His terror consumes him as he hurries passed the husks of his friends, runs towards the staircase that leads deeper into the dark. 

Without a candle to light his way, he gropes blindly at the walls. The west wing isn’t far, and he knows the way by heart, but the unknown blackness makes him stumble. Makes him uncertain as he meanders towards the great door of William’s room.

He opens it slowly, and it creaks so loudly it fills the room.

And something stirs inside. 

“William?” He calls, optimistic when he sees a figure sitting on the balcony.

But the thing that faces him is not William. 

No, the  _ animal _ that turns its gaze onto him, sniffs the air, is not  _ his _ William. 

It is a beast. 

Horribly disfigured and covered in angry slashes, William’s form is hunched over, backbone visible despite the dark, matted fur that seems to spring up in every direction. Fangs gleam inside a gaping maw and William’s jaw hangs uneven, like he’s injured. Like he’s  _ broken _ . But of the horrible visage, that isn’t the worst. Of all the terrible things Steven can see, William’s eyes are the worst. 

Because they aren’t  _ his _ . Not anymore. They’re vacant. Unfocused. Pupils blown so wide they’ve consumed his beautiful blue irises. And when they land on Steven’s form, nothing happens. They don’t widen; William’s expression doesn’t shift. 

He doesn’t recognize him. 

And Steven’s heart breaks. 

“William.” He pleads, his throat wet with a sob that won’t rise into his mouth, caught in his chest. “William, it’s me.” 

The beast growls at him, low like a rattle, and Steven shudders. His skin prickles.

“Please.” He whispers, taking one step into the room. 

The beast moves in one long stride, descending from where he’d been tucked away and loping across the room without any effort at all. Thick legs carry him quickly and when Steven is pressed against the door, tears are running down his cheeks. William rises up onto his back legs, crouches as he growls louder.

He doesn’t recognize him. He only sees an intruder. 

And Steven sees an empty shell.

“I’m so sorry.” He croaks, his entire body shaking as William closes in on him, towering and growling as drool drips from his jaws. There’s a  _ stink _ to him, death and decay, and Steven cries harder, knowing that William would have preferred death to  _ this _ . 

Because this isn’t him. 

As he stares at the monster before him, Steven knows what William would have wanted. 

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats as the beast traps him, lifts his top lip in a snarl. 

Steven thinks of William, the  _ real _ William, and grasps the handle of his pistol. His William would have begged for him to run but Steven can’t leave him. 

Not again. 

“I love you.” He says, not to the monster crowding him, preparing to pounce. But to the man who’d rescued him from wolves. Who’d read to him in front of the fire, held him in his arms and shown him how to dance. The man who’d marked him, claimed him, and then let him go. 

Despite his fate. 

As he lifts his pistol from his side, Steven hopes that maybe one day, he’ll meet William again. 

“I love you.” He repeats. 

And the creature charges. 

 

 

Steven’s aware of two things as he opens his eyes. The first is that he’s not dead. 

The pain radiating from the back of his skull is too  _ crushing _ to be anything but a true indication of his remaining mortality. His vision swims from any attempt to move but he does it anyway. Because he can’t just  _ lie _ there. 

That's the second thing. 

He’s not alone. 

Pulling himself upright, Steven braces his back against a wall, grunts at the ache that starts in his neck and radiates down to his hips. It feels like he’d fallen a hundred feet, not the mere distance to the floor. But he knows that’s all the distance he could have fallen,  _ would _ have fallen, because he’s sitting right where he’d once stood. Not but a few moments ago. 

Before he’d fired a shot and the room had gone dark. 

“Did you mean it?” 

He startles, taken completely aback by a girl sitting on the floor beside him. Steven gapes at her, mouth opening and closing before he can come up with an answer. 

“What?” 

She turns her head, her lovely brown eyes holding him steady. She’s pretty, the girl. Pretty like a flower. Understated, but not plain. Her features are delicate and handsome, but her stare.

Her stare is _haunting_. 

“Did you mean what you said?” She repeats, holding him captive with her words. Steven swallows, tries to use his head despite the  _ shrieking _ . 

With a tilt of her head, the girl reaches out and strokes his cheek, her skin like  _ ice _ . But suddenly the pain is gone. 

“Better?” She asks, her voice filling the empty space in the room. He nods. Silence feels appropriate in such a figure’s presence. She feels like something  _ old _ , something much more complex than the little girl that sits beside him. “Did you mean what you said?” She says one more time, her gaze curious. 

Almost, confused. 

“Yes.” He breathes. 

“Why would you kill him, if you love him?” She asks, her eyes darting over his face. In the back of his mind, Steven knows she means William. 

And for the first time, he looks at the crumpled mass in the middle of the room. 

His despair tackles him, consumes him whole as he looks, sees the matted hair and jut of bone. 

“I killed him because I love him.” He breathes, his vision blurring. “He didn’t deserve this.” 

“He did.” The girl snaps and Steven startles, jerking away from the heat that seems to suddenly radiate from her. “He was cruel and so was his fate.”

“He wasn’t.” He replies, his voice catching despite the rage burning in his gut. “He was spoiled and he was broken but he was  _ good _ .” With that he turns away from her, looks yet again at William’s body. “I should have never left him. I did this.”

“No.” The girl replies.

He turns to look at her, blinking away tears to focus on her face. 

“No?” 

“You came back.” She says plainly, her expression unmoved before she turns her gaze to the body in the room. “He wished you would. And you did.” When she looks back at him, she’s watching him again. Studying. “Because you love him.” 

“I do.” He replies. 

She stares him down, sees into his heart, he thinks. Maybe because she doesn’t understand. 

Or maybe because she once did. 

“His curse is broken.” She speaks. 

And then suddenly she’s gone. 

Steven whirls around, looking all over the room for the girl, but she's simply vanished. One moment beside him, the next nothing but air. 

He rests his arms on his knees, stares out into the room. The body on the floor is all that remains, a breeze rustling the fur. Steven watches how it seems to caress him, smooth out all the tangles and knots. The fur is almost beautiful like that, long and moving like waves. 

Waves of gold. 

Steven blinks, a pinch between his brows as he frowns, watches the fur grow longer before his very eyes. Longer and lighter, curling tight into locks. 

The breeze grows to a dull roar. His heart picks up speed, his mouth going dry as matted hair parts to tanned skin. Skin that fills out, drapes what was once bony and gaunt with flesh and depth. He gasps as muscles bulge under the surface, grow thick and strong like tree roots. 

Before him, a man is born from the corpse of a monster. 

And when the wind stops howling, the room goes still once more, except that now there’s a new sound. 

A soft one. Breathing that is not his own.

"William?"


End file.
